


of first meetings

by matchaball



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, i still don't get ao3 tagging system, lmao someone help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchaball/pseuds/matchaball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Ladybug meets Chat, he is falling. The first time Adrien meets Marinette, she's already fallen. Thankfully, luck always happens to catch them at the right moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of first meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea goes to @madhattressdelux and @gabzilla-z on tumblr. First time writing these precious dorks so apologies for inconsistencies and possible deviations from character! Hooray for finally writing ladybug fanfiction! Happy reading :)

Something old and powerful rushes through Adrien’s veins like an electric current when he transforms. This is not the first time, but the process is still new enough that the strength and potency that course through him feels invigorating, staggering; he is elastic in a way that makes him want to jump and race and  _ move _ . 

And he does, leaping up onto slanted rooftops with amazing ease. He tells himself that he does not show off mid-air, deliberately stretching muscle in a feat of flexibility and agility. But there is no one by the bright face of the moon to witness him, and he takes a moment to lounge comfortably on the gentle slant of a roof to take in the view of Paris before him.

He may have the best view of the Eiffel tower from home, but sitting here, with the whole of his city sprawled out before him, is a privilege Adrien never imagines he’d have. 

Something within him nudges him into standing again, and it takes him a moment to realize it is Plagg’s presence within his ring guiding him up. The sensation is still new, still unfamiliar, but not invasive. If anything, Adrien takes comfort in Plagg’s companionship, however particular and contrary the black kwami likes to be. 

In the short amount of time they’ve known each other, Plagg already firmly stands by him as his friend. This, more than the power and endurance and agility Adrien gains, is what means the most to him. 

He crouches low, unfurls a wide grin, and leaps off into the endless night.

“You’ll need to find your partner,” Plagg tells him the first time they meet, when Adrien finds out he has been chosen. He is so much more familiar with losing someone, after his mother disappeared, after his father isolated himself with work, that being sought out is strange and exciting and hopeful. “You could do this alone, but you’re much stronger when you work in a team.”

Adrien likes the thought of a team. Of not being alone. “How do I know when I’ve found him or her?”

Plagg only grins widely at him, sharp toothed and full of secrets. 

“You’ll know.”

The words ring in Adrien’s mind, propels him forward. That is who he is searching for: his teammate, his other half. His hands flex and he feels the hum of destructive power prickling like static, lying in wait and ready at his command. 

He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, though it’s just his luck that his abilities give him the most opportunity to do so, so he hopes the one he’s looking for has better luck than him. 

His steps skim lightly along narrow ledges and over grey slanted rooftops, his body slicing through the air like a knife. He’s supposed to be searching, but he doesn’t see why he can’t take a bit of time to soak in the cold night air. This reality is so different than what he knows, what he is used to, that the discovery of what he can do is still staggering, dazzling, with each step and spring and leap that he takes. 

He chases the light of the moon and doesn’t look back.

How many nights had Adrien stayed up in his room getting lost in the adventures within his video and computer games? How many hours had he spent exploring every single bit of terrain and doing all the side-adventures simply because he had the freedom and choice to do so?

He laughs to himself as he nimbly somersaults over a neat row of chimneys, relishing how he  _ can _ . 

That is the best part about video games, he thinks: the limitless possibilities. The first time he transformed into Chat Noir, he finally  _ feels _ this, thrumming in his veins. There is no walking, when suddenly he can hoist himself up high walls, climb pipes, run across rooftops. He never knew what kind of world he’d find, when he looks up for the first time and sees the horizon over the uninterrupted landscape of rooftops. 

There is magic, with the roadwork of rooftops below and the clear, open sky above, that he never felt squeezing between crowds of buildings and people. Magic that is not the same as his; and yet, familiar. Beckoning. 

Adrien’s always wished he could go somewhere far beyond; and now, as Chat, maybe he can.

Invigorated by the thought, he takes a powerful leap over an open courtyard, reining in the urge to yowl at the moon because he is  _ flying _ -

\- but the air rushes out of his lungs in a gasp instead as his arm stretches and his clawed fingertips reach for the ledge just beyond his grasp. It’s just his luck as he misses and he is  _ falling _ -

A blur descending from above registers in his mind in that frightening electric kind of clarity one has when fueled by pure fear and adrenaline before he feels a small but strong hand snap around his reaching hand like a magnet. 

His descent halts abruptly, jarringly, and he thinks his arm almost dislocates before he thinks to flex and tense his muscles to counter against the weight of gravity. It takes him a moment to collect himself, and another to notice the red of his saviour’s suit. 

When he looks up, his sharp eyes catch dark hair haloed silver from the light of the moon, and clear, vivid blue eyes behind a spotted red mask. 

“You ok?” she asks with a smile that completely disarms him. He is knocked breathless again, but for an entirely different reason.

An answer springs out of him before he can think. “Now that you’re here, I am.” 

He’s not sure who’s more stunned in the ensuing silence. 

Laughter, light and slightly incredulous, rings between them and he’s relieved to see how humoured she is. 

“Alright, kitty cat,” she chuckles. “Let’s get ourselves out of here.” 

She squeezes his hand, and he braces himself just in time before her wire retracts, zipping them safely up the wall and over onto the flat rooftop. He lands gracefully and turns to face her as he feels her hand slipping away from him. The loss is cold against his palm and he curls his fingers to keep the lingering touch of warmth.

“To whom do I owe my thanks?”

There is a beat as she straightens up and looks him confidently in the eyes. A smile blooms on her face as she answers, “I’m Ladybug.”

_ And I’m yours _ , he immediately thinks. He swallows the thought down and tips a flourished bow towards her instead, smiling cheekily. “Thank you for your timely save. They call me Chat Noir.”

“‘They’?” Ladybug says, amused. She props a hand up on her waist and considers him with keen blue eyes. “I didn’t know you were so famous already.”

“I’m not,” Adrien answers easily, almost carelessly. “I’m told that’s the name of… this,” he gestures towards himself, from the cat ears twitching at the top of his head down to his thick boots. He shrugs. “I’m still adjusting. I was on my way to find you tonight.”

“You almost found the ground.”

“Mis-cat-culation,” he snorts, then almost chokes. He expects the freedom of movement when he transforms to Chat Noir; he does  _ not _ expect this kind of freedom in speech.  _ Although _ , he thinks to himself,  _ that was a pretty good one.  _

Ladybug groans before she laughs, equal parts amused and resigned. 

“At least it won’t be boring, with you as my partner,” she chuckles. Another pun springs to Adrien’s lips but she holds a hand up instantly, already reading his intent. “Save the puns for when it matters, kitty cat.” 

“They always matter!” Adrien insists, and something uncoils within him at her open acceptance and charm. 

She shoots him a dry look that already feels very familiar, and he only grins wider at how easily they already sync to each other. He feels more and more like the Chat Noir he’s supposed to be, standing beside her. His curled fingers flex and warmth sparks along his veins, urging him to race with girl next to him. 

His eyes find hers, gleaming blue and touched with silver, and he thinks maybe he’s already lost.

“Chat? How about we talk as we patrol?” Ladybug suggests after a moment, looking out over the slumbering city of Paris before them. Cool wind tugs at them both before flying off to explore the warm orange glow of lights and lamps still turned on within homes. 

The city sleeps, and the sky awaits. 

“That’s mew-sic to my ears!” Adrien declares mischievously. 

Ladybug squints playfully at him. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Thanks to you, my Lady,” he grins. 

She rolls her blue eyes good-naturedly at the nickname. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she laughs, poking him in the chest. 

“Even if I’ve already fallen for you?” he teases, and he smiles at her easily, disarmingly, with enough sheepishness to let her know he’s only joking- even when something within him hums at the string of truth wound around his words. 

A crooked smile tugs her lips up charmingly and she doesn’t answer, only turning to look forwards.

Her hand unfurls before him like a flower opening, before flicking towards the waiting, open rooftops. 

She jumps and he follows just a beat behind, a shadow to the bright beacon of her red.  

He falls; and this time, he is not afraid. 

* * *

She dreams of a flash of wire, the wind whistling in her ears, and the weight of a mask heavy on her face. Rooftops are all a blur as she runs on and on, driven by a sense of purpose that keeps her moving, keeps her searching.

A black mass plummets before her and she dives without hesitating, swinging her yoyo and wrapping it around a ledge like an anchor. Her hand hooks onto another, feeling the slide of leather and the prick of claws. Her vision is horrible in the dark, even worse as Ladybug, and she can just make out wide eyes and a shock of light hair. 

She hoists them both up into the moonlight and all she can see are vivid green eyes, luminescent in a way only a cat’s are. He-  _ Chat Noir _ , her mind supplies helpfully- straightens up beside her and the movement draws her attention to his tall figure, the shine of leather, the large bell hanging from his neck, the cat ears pricking forward in interest on top his head.

Satisfaction chased by excitement and anticipation course through her like an electric current as she considers her newfound partner.

A grin lights Chat’s face up and she gets the sudden notion of a terrible but endearing sense of humour. He leans forward, his movements slow and watery in a way that only makes sense in a dream, and his eyes widen until all she sees is the green of new beginnings. 

“Marinette,” he murmurs. “Wake up!”

Confusion and panic jolts Marinette awake and she wrenches herself upright into sitting, her heart pounding in a relentless rhythm. 

Gentle but persistent taps pepper her nose and for a wild, disorienting moment, Marinette thinks her freckles have learned how to jump from her skin. She nearly goes cross-eyed catching the culprit red-handed. Not hard when the culprit is technically entirely red to begin with.  

Tikki taps again and chirps urgently, “Marinette! You’re late!”

Marinette has a split second of utter relief, thankful that Chat still doesn’t know her true identity, before panic completely takes over. 

“Not again!” she moans and then she’s racing down the ladder and stuffing her homework in her bookbag. She abandons the task halfway to stick her toothbrush in her mouth the same time she attempts to dress for the day. Her movements are stiff, slow. She almost thinks she’s still dreaming, but the fatigue in her muscles is entirely real. 

Marinette grimaces, feeling more like an arthritic grandmother than the flexible, agile superhero that she is. Transforming into Ladybug gives her an enormous boost in stamina and pain tolerance, which makes jumping from multi-story buildings more a thrill than a terror. 

Unfortunately, Marinette feels every strain in her muscles from her rigourous workout once Tikki withdraws and on mornings like this, she pays the price with little grace. 

“Don’t forget your textbook!” Tikki reminds the the frantic girl before zipping inside a small pink purse. “And a cookie when you go downstairs, please!”

“On it,” Marinette confirms, slinging the purse over her shoulder. She sweeps all the worksheets and her textbook from her desk into her backpack haphazardly before clutching it in her arms and racing to the kitchen. 

“Marinette!” Sabine greets her, a mug of tea held delicately in her hands. “Aren’t you-?”

“Going!” Marinette swipes two cookies from the counter and nearly spills her backpack on the ground in the process. She sneaks a fast kiss onto her mother’s cheeks. “Love you!”

She barely catches the echoed sentiment as she flies out the door and hurries towards the direction of school. Running is painful, and though Marinette knows she’s moving as fast as she can, her speed and ease of movement are nothing like when she’s Ladybug. For a moment, she contemplates transforming, but she lets the temptation go with a regretful sigh. 

Life is simpler and so much more straightforward when she’s purely Ladybug. It’s just her and Chat hunting down akuma and protecting the people of Paris. 

Balance is something Marinette tries to achieve; as Ladybug, she strives to maintain. 

At the end of the day, she wants to make a positive difference wherever and however she can. It’s a big reason, Tikki told her when they first met, why she was chosen. Responsibility and justice are daunting burdens for a fifteen-year-old to carry, but Marinette seizes the challenge with gusto.

_ And _ , she thinks as remembers green, green eyes,  _ I’m not alone _ . 

Reminded, she adjusts the open backpack in her arms so she can drop the cookies in her purse, her leg muscles burning as she keeps running. 

There is a moment of sharp, focused clarity as Marinette watches the cookies descend into Tikki’s outstretched arms before the precariously balanced textbook in her backpack tips gracefully out, and her backpack slips, and paper spills all over the ground, and she trips, and she is  _ falling _ \- 

The cold, hard ground welcomes her warmly as she lands  _ most _ ungracefully on her stomach, the wind knocked clear from her lungs. She immediately sits up, fingers fumbling at her purse. 

“Tikki?” her voice is a wheeze as she tries to reclaim oxygen into her lungs. 

“Are you ok, Marinette?” the kwami’s tiny voice answers her, heavy with concern. Marinette peeks into the purse to see Tikki looking a little dazed but otherwise fine and covered liberally in cookie crumbles. 

“I’m good,” she breathes, then groans as she takes in the scattered mess around her. “Of course. Just my luck.” 

Which is a funny thing to say, because usually Marinette had excellent luck, even before she met Tikki. Luck, however, always seems to like stirring mischief up when she attempts to multi-task. As Marinette gathers her papers up, this time with a little more organization and care, she dryly thinks luck can be as contrary as a  _ cat.  _

Figures when she tries to get her life in balance, luck happens to push something over the edge with no provocation. 

The thought of felines makes her laugh a little in memory of a very particular cat, and her mood lightens just a touch as she places her papers neatly into her backpack. Her textbook lies just out of reach and as she goes for it, she’s intercepted by a graceful hand bearing a wide silver ring. 

Marinette looks up and takes in blonde hair haloed gold by the sun, and green, green eyes. 

“You ok?” The question is accompanied with a shy smile and Marinette cannot answer because she is knocked breathless once again, her mind spinning with a vague sense of déjà vu. 

She gapes at him, all the words she wants to say stuck so helpfully in her throat. She barely has the presence of mind to take back the textbook he offers to her. 

“I’m! It’s- I’m fine,” she finally stammers, and she fervently hopes he takes the embarrassing flush colouring her cheeks as a sunburn. “I- um… you’re…”

He only smiles confusedly at her, unsure at what she’s getting at. Marinette can’t blame him. She hardly knows what she’s saying herself. 

“Hey, I think we’re in the same class together,” he ventures, gesturing to the textbook clutched tightly in her hands. His eyes meet hers and she thinks she reads a flicker of recognition before it’s gone, replaced by polite interest. He grins hopefully at her. “That would be pretty cool. I’m Adrien, by the way.”

As if she didn’t know  _ that _ . It was hard to miss the photos and advertisements of Adrien Agreste all across the city. Harder still to miss the picture (or dozen) she has of him on her computer. His words turn over in her mind and she almost chokes. 

“Same class?” Marinette manages to say coherently. 

His hopeful and excited smile calms her just a touch and he nods in confirmation. “I’m transferring in. Better late than never, even if it’s kind of an awkward time. I guess you’re headed the same way right now…?” His voice trails off, a clear pause for her to offer her name. 

“Marinette!” The answer comes out in a blurt. Her heart flutters at an alarming rate, fueled by adrenaline and exhilaration. She takes a breath and tries to regain some semblance of balance in her mind. “I’m Marinette.”

“Want to get going then, Marinette?” Adrien suggests, offering a hand to her. She hurries to close her backpack up before placing her palm against his, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of his ring. He lifts her up effortlessly and she nearly trips over herself again as she straightens to look up into his eyes. 

“Thank- yes.” Her words jumble together as she attempts to simultaneously thank him and answer his question. Where is Alya when she needs her? “Thank you. Yes, class, we might be late at this rate, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he smiles easily at her. “It’s nice making new friends.” 

Marinette catches a brief flash of uncertainty in Adrien’s eyes, and her nervousness withdraws like the tide rolling out, leaving familiar firm ground to stand on.

Her hand squeezes his briefly, reassuringly, and she smiles warmly at him. 

“Let’s go?” she asks, and she reads gratitude in his eyes before his hand slips out from hers. Her fingers curl in, holding onto the warmth from his palm and the cool touch of his ring. She wonders briefly if she can get away with helping at the bakery with just one hand, so she can preserve the memory of Adrien’s hand in hers forever.

Adrien nods, a reserved but genuine smile lighting his expression. 

He begins to walk and she follows after a dazed moment, quickly lengthening her strides to match his. The cheer in his green eyes and his kind smile, all directed at her, has her floating on clouds. 

Falling, she thinks, is exactly just her kind of luck.


End file.
